The Sunspire No other shotgun rider

Sumayl's golden gaze, having been lingering steadily upon her face, did not fail to take in the open and resulting closing of her mouth when it appeared that nothing was going to come out of it. If Sumayl Ostrega were of the bashful variety of the population he might have felt some embarrassment for admitting that he'd been nothing sort of torn up as her absence stretched longer than she, or anyone really, had anticipated. Except Sumayl wasn't bashful in any sense of the word and thus did not feel such a thing as embarrassment, for he had no shame at all in admittance. While he did not think it necessary (unaware that Jace had already ratted him out) for her to know the extent of his concern (i.e. the hermit like status the narcissistic fucker Ostrega had taken), it wasn't embarrassment that held him back.

The feel of her forehead pressing against his neck was like an electric jolt through his veins, energizing him in a way that nothing else could. Without the heavy press of concern and the knowledge that she had left and had been gone too long without knowing that he loved and adored her with every fiber of his being, narcissistic or otherwise, he felt ten pounds lighter then when he'd started the day out. Sumayl could barely concentrate on her words as she told him about the “thing” that had attacked her, though by all rights he should have. His focus was on her, but it lingered mainly in her touch. In the relief and warmth that it brought to him. At the moment, all that mattered was that she was alive and there, with him.

To watch as her happiness as his declaration of his love for her was to Sumayl like a blind man seeing the rise of the sun for the first time in his life. It was a stolen breath, joyous, stunning moment that he gave him the knowledge of how privileged he was to see it. She had not returned it, but Sumayl hadn't expected her too. That wasn't why he'd said it. Her tone was teasing but her face said everything. “Well not as much as I love myself, you know,” Sumayl rolled his shoulders loftily, giving her a cheeky grin. “But it's pretty close.” Classic text book narcissism.